


In the Seraglio of the Iron Sheik

by PeculiarMojo



Series: Sheikverse [1]
Category: Girl Genius
Genre: A lot of... not-really-sex scenes., M/M, Purple Prose, Seraglio AU, Sheik!Tarvek, Slow Build, Spunky Hero!Vanamonde, abuse of the common comma, crackfic, great expanses of dusky thighs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-02-23
Updated: 2013-02-23
Packaged: 2017-12-03 07:32:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 4,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/695802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PeculiarMojo/pseuds/PeculiarMojo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After breaking into his lab, Vanamonde falls into the nefarious clutches of the Iron Sheik.</p><p>(Alternatively: Everybody is in a harem, chilling out, and having scantily-clad adventures.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Tension, Sexual

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally written on my tumblr (around Sep. 2012), as a bit of a drabble, and spiraled out of control.
> 
> All the best things seem to do that.

The Iron Sheik, sweeping a lock of his burgundy hair out of his face, sauntered up to where his mechanical Eunuchs held the handsome sidekick captive.

“So,” whispered the Sheik, leaning in close. “You break into my laboratories and wreck several of my machines, some of which have taken _months_ to build.” Puffs of breath ruffled the captive’s hair. “What do you have to say for yourself?”  
The Seneschal swallowed, the sound seeming much louder in the quiet room, before replying, “I did my duty for my Mistress.” He could not raise his head to look the mad spark in the eyes. He had failed his mistress. He was a dead man.

A soft, yet powerful hand gripped the minion’s face, forcing him to look into the steely eyes of his captor.

After a long, tense pause, the Sheik smirked and let him go.

“I don’t think I will kill you,” said the Sheik with a flourish. The sidekick began to brace himself for whatever sort of torture might come next. Sparks were always devising new and interesting ways to inflict pain or turn people into fish.

Then Senchal flinched at the unexpected feeling of a hand running through his hair. Not yanking or pulling… but stroking. _Caressing._

“You have quite exotic hair, you know, and to say your looks are appealing would be an understatement, purred the spark. “I think I’ll keep you for my harem.”

Vanamonde flinched as if struck. Harem? _Harem?_

He… supposed that that would be better than dying painfully, and it _would_ give his Mistress a chance to rescue him, if she chose to do so, and his captor didn’t use any sort of mind-control…

The minion kept his mouth shut and his head down.

“No defiance?” the Sheik raised an immaculately-groomed eyebrow.

“I don’t see how it would help my position, in this case…” The blond-and-black haired man did the best he could to shrug while being held up by the two burly mechanical Eunuchs.

“Well, I can think of several _positions_ for you…” the Sheik leered from behind his piece nez, his hand wandering down to his captive’s well-defined chest.

“Keep your hands off me!” The protest came out much squeakier than intended, heat rushing to the Senchal’s cheeks.

To his surprise, the Sheik indeed drew away.

“Take him to the Harem,” He ordered quietly. “And give him a bath.”

The silver clanks perked up at these instructions and dragged the limp Seneschal away.


	2. Wet Naked Seneschals

As it turned out, what the Sheik meant by _“give him a bath,”_ was _“throw the wiggling seneschal right into the bath whether he wishes to or not.”_

They didn’t even give him a chance to change out of his clothes.  
The Seneschal flailed around in the steaming, rose-scented pool before managing to cling onto the side. The Eunuchs were guarding the only exit to the bathing chamber, so running did not appear to be an option. He also suspected that they had orders to push him back in if he tried to get out.

His clothes were absolutely soaked, anyway, ridiculously heavy in the floral-scented water. The Seneschal risked drowning in the pool if he didn’t get them off.

This was much harder than it first appeared, however. The material of his clothes clung to his body, and buttons that had been child’s play to undo on dry land took on an entirely new level of difficulty under water. With much struggle, he managed to remove his coat, his shoes and his socks, slinging them over the side as he did so.

The vest, unfortunately, lost a couple of buttons in its clumsy departure from Vanamonde’s chest, and the shirt shared the vest’s fate before it was also slung over the side of the pool.

That only left his pants and his underthings, then. His trousers would prove to be a problem. The unfortunate things had practically melded to his legs, clinging to the taut muscle incessantly when the Seneschal tried to wiggle them off his legs. Eventually, Vanamonde just gave up with being delicate and gave the stubborn article of clothing a harsh tug.

The ripping sound was muffled by the water, but still terribly audible nonetheless.

The pants were much easier to remove after that, although Vanamonde mourned the loss of his trousers.

Which just left the purple area of fabric surrounding his delicates.

He didn’t really need to remove _those_ , he was sure. They weren’t dragging him down, or going to restrict his movement in any way. He shifted a bit to the side on the pool wall.

There was a tug on the fabric. Oh, it seemed now his last barrier between him and total nakedness was caught on something. Lovely. A heart-rending moment of ripping threads later, and the Seneschal was completely devoid of clothing.

As if on cue, a previously-unnoticed brass nozzle spurted a creamy, soapy concoction right at the naked man’s face. _Shampoo._

 _As if on cue._ The Sheik was probably watching him bathe, the Seneschal realized.

Dirty pervert.

Vanamonde risked giving a rude gesture to the ceiling before setting to work on his hair, focusing on working the shampoo all the way down to the roots, as if it would drive out the sight of the other _previously unnoticed_ devices on the ceiling.


	3. Theo, Where Are Your Clothes?

When the bath was finally done, the new harem member completely clean, the bathwater swished away down the drain, leaving the Seneschal dripping, smelling like a bouquet of flowers, and feeling very, very cold.

A quick _woosh_ made him flinch, just before a towel was dropped on top him. The Sheik had an entire system worked out for this didn’t he? Vanamonde scowled a little to himself.

Not that he minded the towel. By the _bell_ , it was fluffy.  
Vanamonde practically sank into the giant, soft warmth of the towel, drying himself thoroughly.

His outlook on the entire harem buissness had brightened considerably since the bath. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all.

… And maybe the bathwater had been drugged. 

Just as the Seneschal managed to tuck the towel around his wait, cold, mechanical arms gripped him on either side. Vanamonde was really beginning to hate the mechanical Eunuchs, he realized as they dragged him off to yet another part of the Iron Sheik’s palace.

.

Fortunately, it wasn’t far to the next location. A door was thrown open and the clanks tossed him into another room, slamming the door behind him. 

The clanks seemed very predisposed to throwing things, Vanamonde noted, picking himself up off the lush carpet.

“Oh, a new one!”

The Seneschal hurried to adjust his towel, searching for the source of the deep, velvety voice.

A beaded curtain was drawn back to reveal a dark-skinned young man sporting a pair of glasses, a ponytail… and little else. _Very_ little else.

“Welcome! My name is Theopholous DuMedd, but you can call me Theo. What’s yours?”

It took the Seneschal a moment to find his voice. The great expanse of dusky thighs on display did not make it any easier.

“Vanamonde. Vanamonde… Heliotrope. I suppose you could call me Van.” He cleared his throat. “Er, I have to ask… is that the common dress around here?”

“Oh, what, this?” laughed Theo, as he gestured to the silky loincloth just barely keeping his modesty intact. “No, actually. this is just very comfortable, and I wasn’t exactly expecting visitors. The actual ‘uniforms’ are a bit more covering, I assure you.”

“Oh. That’s a… relief?” the sentance ended up coming out like a question.

The dusky skinned man plopped himself down on a nearby pile of cushions and patted the place next to him, inviting Vanamonde to sit down.

The harem’s newest member tactfully shook his head and adjusted his towel.

Theo chuckled at this. ”I keep forgetting how everyone starts out. I assume you didn’t volunteer for this?”

“Volunteer?” Vanamonde said blankly. “People volunteer?”

Theo stretched himself out over the pile of cushions, propping himself up on his elbow. “Well, free food, protection from the nearest crazed spark, nice clothes, and - if you’re a spark - enough materials to keep you happy. If he finds you attractive, of course.”

“But- who would do that?”

A small frown crossed Theo’s face.

“ _Well_ , I did.”

The Seneschal looked desperately for some way to save the conversation. Fortunately, Theo kept talking.

“Being a poor Spark, far from home, in these sort of lands…” the Indian’s glossy hair waved as he shook his head. “Well, it can be dangerous.”

Vanamonde shifted. He opened his mouth to say something encouraging--

Theo's frown abruptly turned into a beam. “But, hey, it isn’t all that bad! I met my wife here.”

“You- what?”

“Theo, darling.” came a voice from behind the beaded curtain. “Stop chatting up the visitor and bring him some clothes.”


	4. Get the Man some Pants

The beaded curtain was swept aside with a rattle, revealing a rather well-curved redhead standing behind it. Her attire was covered considerably more skin than Theo’s, but that didn’t mean much. Her thin, lacy mint-green nightgown clung to her buxom form in ways that left very little to the imagination. 

“Sleipnir! Darling!” Theo sprung up from his pile of cushions, a large grin spreading across his face.

Sleipnir made a hushing sound. “Theo. The poor man is in a _towel_ for goodness sake.” She turned to the bewildered Seneschal. “Come with me, sweetie. We’ll find you something until you get fitted.”  
“Fitted?” parroted Vanamonde flatly.

“Oh, wow, you are really are such a newbie!” She patted his cheek. “You’ll feel better with some pants on.”

That certainly seemed like a reasonable statement.

Vanamonde followed the voluptuous woman through the beaded doorway, trying to ignore the way Theo was wiggling his eyebrows.

Behind the curtain was a very lavish bedroom, the centerpiece of which being a large, sturdy ornate bed, covered in mussed white sheets.

“Er,” muttered Van. “I wasn’t _interrupting_ something, was I?”

“Yes,” deadpanned Sleipnir as she strode over to the closet. “ _Sex_.”


	5. Nakedness vs. Frilly Underthings

The myriad of color trapped inside the closet was simultaneously hypnotizing and nauseating. Tangerine orange, electric blue, vermillion, emerald, sunset pink, cherry red, mint green, fuchsia— the colors coexisting in the cramped space seemed to have no rhyme or reason to their theme or color. They all seemed to be well designed, fortunately, but— all of those colors—  
Van chose the least eye-arresting outfit he could, a dark chocolate brown pair of loose-fitting pajamas. Van was forced to do an intricate dance to get his chosen clothes on without revealing anything unmodest, as Sleipnir refused to leave.

Not that Sleipnir seemed to be interested, but it was the thought that counted, really. He might be trapped in a crazed Sheik’s harem for a good term of the foreseeable future, but that didn’t mean he should abandon common decency.

 _Probably the opposite, really._ He thought as he buttoned the top button of the silky shirt.

“Is he changed yet?” Theo asked eagerly.

“Just finished,” Sleipnir called back.

The Seneschal did indeed feel better with a reliable layer of clothing between him and the world.

However, that comfortableness was stretched to the breaking point when Theo picked the newly-dressed Seneschal up in an enthusiastic bear hug.

He was suprisingly strong for a scantily clad male consort. As Vanamonde was squeezed tight against the large man’s bare coffee-colored chest, he was all too aware of the single thin layer of fabric that seperated them. His arems were squished against his sides, trapped in the terrifying embrace. He could feel Theo’s heart booming away inside his chest, like beating like a hammer.

“Stop.” Van managed to squeeze out.

And just like that, Theo let him go, releasing the slightly smaller man from the claustrophobic embrace.

“Er,” said Theo, looking sheepish. “Um. Well, welcome to the Seraglio of the Iron Sheik. Sorry about that?”

Sleipnir patted Van on the back. “Don’t worry. You’ll get used to the hugs.” She steered him back out of the bedroom. 

“You can have the pillow pile- unless you want to snuggle, but-” she chuckled a bit when she saw Van’s face. The thought of being squished inbetween a scantily clad couple did not appeal to him. “I’m guessing not. Sleep well.” she said as she walked back to their bedroom. “We’ll try not to be too loud.”


	6. Van don't drink coffee like that you will hurt yourself

The Seneschal rolled over. It was too bright and way too early. He sighed and curled into the soft pile of cushions, attempting to drift off again.

“Hey,” a voice whispered. “Are you awake?”

Vanamonde mumbled a bit, hoping the intruder would be satisfied with that and leave him alone.

But wait- the Seneschal’s nose twitched, picking up a heavenly familliar scent.

“I’ve got coffee,” said Theo, waving the hot mug under the drowsy Seneschal’s nose.

 

Faster than Theo could see, the mug disappeared from his hand, and Vanamonde was sitting upright, clutching the mug.

The Seneschal practically inhaled the hot beverage, finally tipping the mug back to get at the last drops of sweet brown medicine clinging to the sides.

“That was quick.” Theo said after Van seemed content with the emptiness of his mug. “Did you even taste any of that?”

“Imported, full-bodied, rich. Fruity undertones, Likely from the tropics. Flavored with chili and chocolate powder, sweetened with honey to balance out the natural bitterness of the mixture,” remarked the Seneschal, staring into his cup. “Not bad.”

“Thank you. It’s my own blend.”

“Oh.” Van tore his stare away from his mug and turned it on Theo, and to the rest of the room behind him, taking it in intently. “Well. I guess that wasn’t a dream then.”

“Afraid so.” Theo said, leaning on an uncovered spot on the cushion pile.

The Seneschal took theis moment to note that Theo was covered more than he was yesterday. The flimsy orange harem pants that ballooned out around his ankle left much more of Theo’s lower body up to the imagination, much to Van’s relief.

“Mm,” Van took a moment to collect his thoughts. “What do I do now?”

“Well, right now, you should probably wait for the Eunichs to take you in for fitting.”

“Fitting?”

“For clothes.” There was a sharp knock on the chamber’s door. “That would be them.”

“Do they have to take me everywhere?”

“Well, until you’re trusted.” Theo shrugged, bare shoulders rolling. “You should probably go. They’ll carry you out otherwise.”

There was another brief clang of metal on wood.

“He’s going! Keep your blighted rivets screwed!” shouted Theo. In a more hushed tone, he added; “Oh, don’t worry about being deflowered or such. It’s just like going to a tailor. Well,” Theo paused. ” _Similar_ to going to a tailor.” Another thoughtful pause. “You’ll be fine.”


	7. [Muffled Saxophones]

Just like going to a tailor, Van told himself as the eunuchs violently pushed him into the Sheik’s lab.

Nothing to worry about at all, he thought, examining the dark hardwood floors, collecting his thoughts before pushing himself back to his feet and looking up.

Sitting in the middle of the tastefully decorated lab was the Sheik, his long wine-colored hair out of its ponytail and draped lightly around his shoulders. Van paused for a moment to appreciate how the Sheik’s hair framed his face… like curtains framing a stage, really.

Although Van tried to keep his eyes on the hair, his concentration slipped and he couldn’t help looking a little lower.  
If it weren’t for the fact that every hair was perfectly placed, Vanamonde would swear that the Sheik had just rolled out of bed and shrugged on a robe. Vanamonde would also swear that the Sheik slept in the nude, but that would be in a hushed tone and never mentioned again.

The robe itself was quite luxurious, no matter what was or wasn’t underneath it. Deep red silk draped over the Sheik’s pale physique, making him look like some sort of marble statue. The robe’s neckline sagged a fair ways downward, revealing not only a good deal of the Sheik’s suprisingly defined abs, but also a couple of wine-colored hairs leading past the sparks waist.

Van made a mental comment about the drapes matching the curtains, but shook it out of his head almost as soon as it entered, returning his attention to the Sheik’s face.

“Well,” said the Sheik, pushing himself off of the conveniently placed lounge. “If you’re done staring, could we get started?”

The Seneschal flushed bright red at this and most certainly did not note how the hem of the robe rode up on the Sheik’s thighs when he moved. The Sheik was certainly not wearing boxers, if he _was_ wearing undergarments. Which Vanamonde was not thinking about.

The Sheik impatiently waved Vanamonde over to a clear spot in the lab, surrounded by mannequins of various sizes and shapes. The Seneschal mentally shrugged and walked over to the spot. Whatever was going to happen, he might as well get it over with.

“Tinka, get me some measuring tape, would you?”

The Seneschal nearly jumped out of his skin when one of the mannequins moved.

“Y-Y-Y-Yes, sir,” the clank said haltingly.

“What-?” asked Vanamonde before catching himself.

“Oh, that’s Tinka, don’t mind her.” The Sheik replied automatically, in an almost casual tone. “Take off your clothes.”

“What?”

“Oh, please. You don’t really expect me to take accurate measurements when you’re covered in _those_.”

Vanamonde looked down at the loose pajamas. Yes, that made sense, but-

“No.”

“Please don’t make me force you.”

“No.”

“You’re not wearing anything under there, are you?”

The Seneschal’s silence spoke louder than words. 

Theo didn’t really have anything he would wear… It was all so _frilly_ … and, it was just pajamas… Van really couldn’t be blamed for this.

Van’s train of thought, as well as the awkward silence, was broken by a small click.

“Oh, thank you, Tinka,” he said, taking the measuring tape from the jerky clank. “Ah, I just realized- What’s your name?”

“What’s yours?”

“Tarvek Sturmvoraus, Sheik.”

“Vanamonde Heliotrope, Minion.”

“Okay, Vanamonde,” said Tarvek. “Before anything happens, let me get one thing straight.” He put a hand on Vanamonde’s still-clothed shoulder. “Although this is my harem, I won’t… I would never _force_ you. To do anything you don’t want to do.”

“So I can go?”

“No. I mean, that would be a really terrible idea and-” the Sheik sighed. “I’ll ensure that you don’t leave the harem, harm yourself or try and blow up the palace, but… I won’t force you to have relations with me or anyone else, is that clear?”

Well that… certainly took a weight off the Seneschal’s shoulders.

“Now can we please take off your shirt at least? We’ll deal with your lack of undergarments when we come to them.”

After a moment of contemplation, Van began to fumble with the buttons of the shirt. He could deal with a chest measuring. He had been shirtless before.

Van was on the fourth button when Tarvek lost patience and ripped the shirt off him.


	8. Nipples are like Little Pink Buttons

Van squeaked in protest as the coffee colored garment was ripped away from him, hands scrambling to regain some modesty.

“You were too slow.” Tarvek shrugged, tossing the garments off to one side, seemingly recovered from his outburst. “Hold out your arms?”

Van sputtered a bit, shivering at the sudden influx of cold air, but did so almost automatically, stretching his arms out to the side. The Sheik grinned and skillfully whipped the measuring tape around the Seneschal’s neck, pausing barely a moment before muttering a number and moving on.

This continued as the Sheik measured Vanamonde’s hands, arms, shoulders and chest… it fell into a pattern almost, and Van began to relax, thinking back to the occasional medical check-up he’d had back in Castle Heterodyne. The last one was… what, after the Slime Lobster fiasco? That seemed a long time ago, surely that wasn’t-

Van flinched as Tarvek’s thumb brushed over his nipple, possibly squeaking a little. Tarvek muttered something that was most certainly longer than a number.  
An accident, Van thought. At least until it happened again. No squeak this time, just a sharp intake of breath and a suspicious look.

The third time it happened, it was most certainly not an accident.

“Could you avoid my nipples?” Van shifted a little, glaring at the Sheik. “Please?”

“Mm? If you insist.” Tarvek placed the palm of his hand flat against Van’s chest.

“… You aren’t measuring me anymore, are you?”

“I finished about five minutes ago, but you looked so peaceful, standing there..”

“… That you decided to touch my nipples?”

“I was getting bored.” the Sheik rolled his shoulders under his velvety robe. “Quite sensitive, aren’t you?”

“So I’ve been told.” Van did his best to keep his features emotionless.

“I’m sure you have,” the Sheik chuckled, brushing a stray lock of wine-colored hair out of his face. “Shall we move onto you legs?” The Sheik moved his hand to Vanamonde’s waist.

“Um. I, er, well-” Vanamonde gently tried to move the hand away.

The Sheik sighed, and moved away from the deliciously half-clothed Seneschal, who was just realizing exactly how chilly the lab was. Half a moment later, the Sheik returned, carrying what appeared to be a black silk handkerchief, which he then tossed to Van.

“Here, put this on.”

Van fumbled to catch the fabric. A pair of underwear. Black, silky, high quality, and ever-so slightly stretchy.

“Those are actually part of something else… but they will do for now.”

“Oh.” Van said. “Great. Um, could you turn around?”

“If you insist.” Tarvek spun on his heel, turning his back to the flustered Seneschal.

The Seneschal refused to notice the elegant way the Sheik’s hair fanned out as he twirled. In fact, he didn’t even register it.

Vanamonde switched “clothes” as quickly as he could, wriggling a bit to get the clingy black fabric up his thighs. The… panties, yes, that was accurate, stretched tight over the Seneschal’s skin, hugging unsettlingly close to his “subtle man-curves.”

After Vanamonde was absolutely sure there was nothing unseemly poking out, ”You can turn around now,” he said. 

It was nice to have even that amount of power over the spark.

Tarvek spun around and froze, looking Van’s lightly-muscled physique over head to toe before quickly kneeling down in front of the now-startled Seneschal.

“Hold still,” the Sheik ordered.


	9. Van, you need to think of something unarousing.

Holding still was much harder than it sounded, as Vanamonde was _not at all_ accustomed to people’s heads being so close to his groin.

The Sheik quickly wrapped the measuring tape around each of the Seneschal’s thighs, taking each of the measurements in a blink before moving on. The Sheik’s head bobbed up and down as he worked, making Van flush a little and shift, trying not to think lewd thoughts.

After what seemed like an eternity, the Sheik’s wine-colored head popped up and locked eyes with the Seneschal.

“I am about to take your inseam. Try not to be alarmed.”

Vanamonde’s well-shaped eyebrows furrowed for a moment before shooting straight up in shock at the light touch at the inside of his ankle that crept up to his inner thigh at a maddening speed, finally inching off of Vanamonde’s bare legs and onto the silky cloth protecting his modesty, the Sheik’s thumb pressing upwards just below his—

Van jumped back. “Oh now that is— You!” The Sheik slowly rose to his feet, one immaculately shaped eyebrow raised skeptically. “You-“

“I what?” said Tarvek, stepping closer.

“You are trying to seduce me.”

“Is it working?” the Sheik stepped even nearer to the flustered Seneschal, getting inside the blonde’s personal space and leaning forward slightly. “If not—I’ll stop.”

Van took a deep breath and leaned forward as well, rebellion sparking in his eyes, narrowing the space between the two to barely a centimeter. “So you say, but if I turned you down, would you really-“

Van was cut off by a loud crashing sound from the back of the lab. Sunlight flooded through the broken window and torn curtians, revealing a figure caught in their red velvet clutches. 

“Sturmvoraus! You scheming wretch! Come out and face me like the pompous viper you are!”


	10. Threesome?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There may be a long gap until the the next update-- I'd written this a while back and just now crossposted it from tumblr.

“Wulfenbach, you low-bred _toad_ , now is _not_ the time!” the Sheik sighed, rolling his eyes.

“Really? What could be so pressing—?” the figure started, slightly muffled before the young adventurer managed to get his head through, hair litered with tiny fragments of glass. The Wulfenbach heir scanned the room, his fluffy brown hair littered with tiny sparkling fragments of glass, and froze when he saw the Seneschal.

“Deflowering yet another blushing virgin for your harem, you viper?” 

“I am _not_ a virgin.” Van said, clinging to some scrap of his dignity.

Tarvek sighed again. “Vanamonde. We will have to continue this seduction some other time. I’m afraid an attention-hogging bastard scoundrel has completely soiled the mood for such activities."

Young Wulfenbach gave a snort of indignation, shifting impatiently. His silk button-down shirt was very low-cut, revealing most of his chest.

Tarvek placed a light kiss on Vanamode’s flushed cheek. “Sorry about this, but could you find your way back to your quarters? I have to trounce this halfwit. It may get ugly.”

The glass-covered adventurer grinned at this. “I would like to see that, you arrogant _fop_.”

The Sheik rolled up the sleeves of his robe. “Don’t worry, you will.”

Tarvek reached the lab door just as Tarvek pounced on the adventurer in tight pants, and managed to slam it behind him just as something heavy crashed against the nearby wall.

Van stood outside the door for a moment, listening to the crashing and yelling within.

The Iron Eunichs on either side of the door ignored Vanamonde, much to his relief. He could probably escape right now, the Vanamonde realized. Find some unguarded door and disappear into the countryside.

The Seneschal began to walk away from the Sheik’s lab, but stopped, reminded of a fatal flaw in his half-formed plan by a cool breeze.

It would be quite hard to dissapear into the countryside with nothing more than a pair of silky black undies to his name.

Van sighed and tried to remember which way the harem headquarters were.

“Excuse me,” Van spun around to find the source of the British voice- a thin, wiry, spiffy dark-haired man slightly panting from exertion. “Have you seen Master Gil? He’s about so high, well built, tight trousers—”

Van pointed towards the Sheik’s chambers. The British manservant nodded his thanks and ducked in.

“Sir! Sir!” he could hear from the slightly ajar door. “We have to go! I have a message from the Mistress and-” Van’s ears perked up, _his_ Mistress perhaps?

“Then I shall have to wrap this up quickly!” said the young Wulfenbach, audibly smirking as he rustled around for some contraption. “HA! he exclaimed, as something clanked to the ground. “Straight from Paris— Doctor Bunbury’s Bondage in a Box! You can get them anywhere in Paris—”

There was muted explosion, and some yellow dust billowed out of the crack in the door.

“… Unless that was Bunbury’s ‘Special Times” Sex Pollen in which case—” 

“Oh _Red Fire_ , Wulfenbach…” Van was sure that the Sheik had meant to be… less throaty when he said that. Certainly a little less desperate.

Wulfenbach cleared his throat. “Ah, well, Stormvoraus, it seems we have a mutual problem now so—” he was cut off by a wet smacking sound. Followed by the hurried rustling of fabric.

“Ah— Sir…” the British man was talking now, his voice a little shaky.

“Oh, Wooster! So sorry. Do you want…?”

There was a moment of silence, broken by a sharp gasp of pain.

Followed by a long moan.

Not pain then.

Van decided it was time to go.

He determinely set off down the hall at a fairly decent pace—

but not before he heard a rasp that would haunt his dreams:

“Move aside Wulfenbach, he’s not getting all of the fun.”


End file.
